


Crosscurrents

by tsurai



Series: He's Something, Alright [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reveal, always-a-demon!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurai/pseuds/tsurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me, creeper wolf, if you had the chance to become the most powerful alpha on the West coast, would you take it?”</p><p>Silence reigned, broken only by the druid’s moaned “No!” and faint struggle as Stiles reached forward to wrap the wire loose around her neck. He could hear the cogs turning in Peter’s head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crosscurrents

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a [prompt](http://tsuraiwrites.tumblr.com/post/101344702536/dragons-song-answered-your-post-i-want-to-do) on tumblr's Steter Week. A departure from my always-a-demon!Stiles fic, Guardian, with some spoilers for future plot points of the story.

Stiles breathed. Seventeen years in this body, a well of power wrapped up in concealing his nature from the world. All his mother’s power at his fingertips and he’d barely been able to utilize a thimbleful. It said something about the Claudia’s strength that the magic he’d been in contact with for a decade and a half had left his body as pure as the day it entered, seeping into the earth surrounding the nemeton. Stiles breathed, listening to the dark druid’s gurgling speech across the clearing.

“And now that Scott’s an alpha, you’ll be able to steal it from him,” she laughed, realization coloring her voice.

“Yeah, no,” Stiles said, striding into the clearing as he let go of the shadows he’d been using to evade detection. Both dark figures jerked to face him, though the movement was obviously excruciating for Ms. Blake.  “There will be no spark-stealing from Scott.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, in the same manner he’s spoken when they first met. He found it a lot less annoying this time around. “What an…unexpected development.”

“Same here. I thought you’d learned your lesson about fucking with us after I set you on fire.” Stiles finally stopped a few feet away from the great stump and cast his gaze at the dying Jennifer. He could feel a stir of magic under his feet, the magic that belonged to him until just a few hours ago – she was trying to heal herself. “Nope, that’s not happening either.” He waved a hand, cutting off the trickle of power with the negligent movement. The druid choked, and even Peter took an aborted step back.

“What are you?” Jennifer croaked, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Free, for one. I’ve been waiting a long time to come back into my own,” hummed Stiles, pulling a string from Scott’s old bass out of his pocket. “You know, if you hadn’t gone after Melissa and my dad, I would’ve let you complete the cycle. Revitalizing the nemeton with the proper rituals afterward would be a good move in the supernatural world. After all, if you hold territory with crosscurrents like this, you have a lot of power.” He looked at Peter as he said the last. The werewolf’s eyebrows were high on his head.

“You seem quite knowledgeable about magic,” Peter murmured, looking from Stiles to Jennifer and back. “One does have to wonder where you acquired your information.”

“One does,” he agreed, crouching down next to Jennifer even as she tried to move away and failed. “Tell me, creeper wolf, if you had the chance to become the most powerful alpha on the West coast, would you take it?”

Silence reigned, broken only by the druid’s moaned “No!” and faint struggle as Stiles reached forward to wrap the wire loose around her neck. He could hear the cogs turning in Peter’s head.

“What’s the catch?” the wolf finally growled, blue eyes glowing when Stiles turned to look.

“No catch, just a condition,” he said, and jerked the wire taught. Jennifer struggled harder, her long nails biting into his arms as Stiles used his newly-regained strength to haul her up and over until she lay prone on the nemeton. Peter took a step closer, though whether to stop him or help Stiles would never know, because he stopped himself. Stiles looked back down to the woman whose pale face was darkening under the moonlight from lack of oxygen. “If I help you, you’ll stay away from Scott, Melissa, Lydia, and my dad. Your plans won’t touch them.”

“Just them? I rather thought you’d want my oath not to kill anyone.” Peter sounded so incredulous Stiles couldn’t help but snort.

“After Gerard, even Scott knows better than to expect that kind of altruism from me,” he said, tying off the improvised garrote as Jennifer went limp.

“ _You_ killed Gerard Argent.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yep. Using me as a punching bag was his last mistake,” Stiles licked his lips, finally looking back at the wolf. “So?”

Peter stared for another moment in contemplation, but finally answered: “If you can do what you say, you have a deal.”

Stiles grinned at the wording. “Oh, goodie.” Without further ceremony, he turned and punched through Jennifer’s temple. Blood and brain matter spattered everywhere, and Stiles could feel bone shards digging into his knuckles, but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead he closed his eyes, lost to the bliss of dark power washing over him into the nemeton, which pulled at the sacrifice greedily.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, hissing.“Sulphur!”

Stiles smiled and opened eyes as white as the full moon overhead. “That would be me,” he said turning to the other. The werewolf didn’t flinch this time, staring at him with open fascination and a pinch of realization.

“You’re not possessed,” the older man breathed. “It’s always been you.”

“Damn, you’re quick.” He stood, closing the gap between them. “I’ve been the guardian of Beacon Hills for seventeen years and you’re the first one that’s caught on.” Stiles breathed, and each particle of air felt like another piece of his freedom. “Do we still have a deal?”

It was Peter who closed the space between them, one hand coming up to pull Stiles in until their lips met. That was all it took for the contract to be signed and sealed, but Stiles drew it out, opening his mouth to let his tongue run over Peter’s sharp fangs. The tip of one nicked him, drawing blood. Peter finally pulled away, nose wrinkled as he desperately tried for a smug expression. “You taste like rotten eggs,” the man complained.

Stiles laughed and laughed.


End file.
